


Don't Blink 'Til It's Over

by getpitchslapped



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: AU, F/F, Implied Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getpitchslapped/pseuds/getpitchslapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Chloe is intrigued by the surly girl at the record store with the dark eyeliner who manages to make shelving CDs seem like she’s having a tooth pulled who also happens to be a complete musical genius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the music video for "Crazy Youngsters" by Ester Dean and a gifset by Tumblr user brittany-snodes, which can be found here: 
> 
> http://brittany-snodes.tumblr.com/post/118684707685/chloe-drags-aubrey-to-the-record-store-because-she

Chloe finds it by accident.

They’re running dangerously low on food in their shared apartment, and Aubrey asks her to swing by the Trader Joe’s that’s just a couple doors up from where Chloe does yoga on Tuesday afternoons.

She was  _totally_  about to walk into the store when something else caught her eye. She hurries across the street—nearly getting run over by a car making a left turn in the process—and stops in front of the glass door, reading the decal on which “Hooked on Sonics: Music for the Independent Mind” is written in graffiti-esque script.

She’s already in love with it before she opens the door.

A little bell over the door tinkles as Chloe pulls it open. The air conditioning blasts her (still slightly sweaty) face as she takes in the stacks of records and CDs. To her left is a flight of stairs; a sign on the wall reveals a used record cellar. Plastered across every open surface are old-school band posters. A few patrons mill about, flipping through CDs as they bob their heads to the faint strains of Billy Joel that drift through the ceiling-mounted speakers.

Basically, it’s the coolest motherfucking place Chloe’s  _ever_  seen.

* * *

For the record, she  _meant_  to go to Trader Joe’s. She totes did.

(“We can’t eat your intentions, Chloe,” Aubrey huffs as she digs through the kitchen junk drawer for a take-out menu.)

For the record, Chloe’s also sorry, but any opportunity for Thai food is never a bad thing in her book.

* * *

She goes back two days later. (The seven CDs she bought on Tuesday are looking awfully lonely.)

A very chiseled blond man in a Ramones t-shirt and a nametag that says “Luke” nods at Chloe from the back of the store when she enters. The sleeves of his shirt are stretched around sizably large biceps, and Chloe’s not close enough to confirm, but she’d be willing to bet he smells like Axe.

She makes her way to the R&B section, near the back, intending to buy Aubrey a new Celine Dion album as an apology.

(She’s right, by the way. The entire section smells like Abercrombie & Fitch.)

“Aren’t you going to greet the customer, DJ Becky?” Luke calls out in a—very hot, Chloe must admit—British accent.

A girl with tangled brown wrapped in a faded purple flannel looks up and narrows her darkly lined eyes. Her multitude of ear piercings glint in the fluorescent lighting. She pulls her lips into what Chloe assumes is meant to be a forced smile but in reality is more of a grimace. “Welcome to Hooked on Sonics. Can I help you find anything?” the girl says with all of the enthusiasm of that cute little grumpy cat she keeps seeing on Facebook. Actually, she quite resembles that cat.

Chloe thinks absently that they’d both probably bite her if she attempted to pet them as she ogles the— _really_  rather excessive amount of—cleavage revealed by the girl’s low-cut top and the way she leans over the stacks.

It takes a few moments of the girl looking expectantly at her with raised eyebrows for Chloe to realize she’s staring.

“Oh. Um. Yes,” she stutters. “Celine Dion. I mean—I’m looking for gift for my friend.”

“Okay,” the girl—Beca; Chloe tears her eyes away from (THE ACTUALLY VERY RUDE AMOUNT OF) Beca’s exposed skin to read her name tag—says, looking at her with a look that clearly says  _did you forget to take your meds this morning_? “They’re right over here.” She turns, tipping her head in a come-with-me gesture.

Chloe follows her a couple of racks over, where Beca taps on a stack with a fingernail covered in chipped black polish.

“Thank you,” Chloe says. Beca gives her a half smile in response and turns to leave. “Wait!” Chloe calls, and Beca turns back to her. Chloe wracks her brain for an excuse to continue conversing. “Are you really a DJ?”

“That's… debatable,” Beca says, shifting on her feet. “Luke lets me do a show twice a week on WBUJ.”

“I think that counts,” Chloe says with an encouraging smile. “When is your show?”

“Wednesdays and Fridays at eight,” Beca replies, absently twirling the ends of her hair. It’s a gesture Chloe can’t help but find endearing.

“Well, I’ll be listening,” Chloe informs her, smiling. Beca returns her smile; albeit looking a bit hesitant, it seems genuine.

_I am so fucked_ , Chloe thinks as butterflies erupt in her stomach.

A call of “Becky!” from a closet in the back of the store bursts the girls’ bubble. Beca jumps a little.

“I have to go,” she says apologetically.

“Okay,” Chloe says. “Um. Bye.” She watches Beca retreat into the back, her boots clunking heavily on the floor.

Yeah, she’s fucked.

* * *

The next evening, Chloe sits cross-legged on her bed with her little shower radio tuned to 95.7. When the clock ticks to 8:00, the commercials give way to a musical segue.

“Welcome back to 95.7 WBUJ with Beca Mitchell,” says a disembodied voice, tinny from the cheap radio’s speaker. “I’ve got a new mix for you guys, so don’t go anywhere.”

Chloe waits with baited breath as the first strains of “Titanium” play—which makes her squeal like an idiot, because that’s her  _jam_. But then “Bulletproof” jumps in, followed by “500 Miles,” and Chloe legitimately nearly falls off of her bed.

The surly girl from the record store is a  _genius_.

* * *

The next morning, she finds herself humming the catchy tune. Chloe belts it out in the shower, trying to sing all three parts from each respective song. She probably sounds ridiculous, and Aubrey gives her a concerned look when she comes out wrapped in her towel, but she doesn’t care.

* * *

She’s barely patient enough to wait until the store opens before she bursts through the door, pausing only to return Luke’s greeting politely before she makes a beeline for Beca, who is haphazardly stacking CDs while bobbing her head to some tune that must be playing in her head.

“Beca!” Chloe all but shouts, garnering a couple of looks from the other patrons. In her excitement, she grabs Beca’s arm, the smaller girl looking at her with mild alarm.

“What? What happened?” she asks, looking at Chloe with wide eyes. (And yeah, she’s really going to need to get used to adoring fans jumping all over her because Chloe’s sure that’s her future, and right now Beca looks ready to smack her.)

“Your mixes,” Chloe gushes, “are  _amazing_!”

“Oh,” Beca says. “I thought my car was on fire or something.”

(Definitely needs to work on that.)

“No, silly.” Chloe laughs. “I listened to your show last night. You’re so talented, Beca,” she says earnestly.

“You listened to the show?” Chloe finds the way the tips of Beca’s ears turn a bit red and she smiles sheepishly adorable.

“Of course I did! I loved that ‘Titanium’ mash-up. It’s been stuck in my head since last night.”

“Thanks,” Beca says, looking at Chloe a little strangely. “Um, I really do appreciate that, but…”

Chloe knits her brows together in concern. “What?”

“Do you think I could have my arm back now?”

“Oh!” Chloe says (a bit too loudly— _God, Beale, get it together_ ), releasing her grasp. “Of course.”

“So…” Beca drawls after an awkward pause. “Is that all you came for, or do you need more Celine?”

Chloe laughs, grateful for the reprieve. “I think if I buy any more CDs Aubrey—my roommate—will kill me.”

“She sounds like fun.”

“Shut up,” Chloe giggles. “She’s not that bad.”

“Hey, Becky,” Luke says, walking past the pair with an armful of records, “when you’re done flirting with the customers I really need someone to sort these.” He gives Chloe a smile that can only be described as douchey. (And yes, she knows that isn’t really a word, and no, if you asked her to describe what qualifies as a “douchey” smile she wouldn’t be able to—but it totes was.)

Beca flushes from her chest up to her cheeks and takes the stack, shooting Luke a death glare. Chloe covers her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. “You should probably get back to work,” she offers, giving a final wave before turning to go.

She may or may not have heard Beca mutter, “I’m going to murder that man and they won’t even find the body,” on her way out.

Probably not.

* * *

On Wednesday night, Chloe gathers her radio and lies on her bed, closing her eyes and letting Beca’s music wash over her, zoning out.

Until the door bangs open.

“Chloe, have you seen my—”

“Shh!” Chloe shushes, so loudly bits of spit fly out of her mouth.

Frowning, Aubrey steps into the room. “What are you—?”

“Shhhh!

"Fine,” Aubrey mutters to herself, exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

* * *

“Remind me again why you’re dragging me to a record store when our shelves are already overflowing with CDs?”

“Because,” Chloe says, “I like it.”

Aubrey rolls her eyes. “Is this where you keep sneaking off to?”

“Perhaps.” Chloe jabs the button for the walk signal with her index finger.

“The staff must be pretty cute if this is where you’re spending all your time,” Aubrey jokes, eyes widening when Chloe averts her graze and coughs awkwardly. “Oh my God, Chloe, _really_?”

Chloe just shrugs and smiles sheepishly in response.   
“What’s his name?” Aubrey asks as they step off of the curb and into the crosswalk. “Is he cute?”

“Okay, so…” Chloe says, fiddling with the brim of her hat. “It’s actually a she.” She glances at Aubrey to gauge her reaction, but her friend just smiles. “Her name is Beca and she’s a DJ at WBUJ.”

“Oh, is _that_ what you were listening to you when you told me to shut up?”

Chloe nods. “She makes these mixes that are incredible.” And—okay, yep—now she’s grinning like an idiot as she yanks open the door to Hooked on Sonics.

“Oh, this is cute,” Aubrey says, glancing around as the two weave in and out of the stacks.

Beca is shelving records a few feet away, and Chloe gives her a half-wave. Beca smiles—like, an actual, real smile, not the I’m-obligated-to-look-pleasant-because-you’re-a-customer smile (progress!).

“Is that her?” Aubrey whispers, leaning in. “The one that looks like a baby raccoon?”

“Please don’t let her hear you say that,” Chloe hisses. “And yes, that’s Beca.”

Aubrey glances over her shoulder. “She’s totally into you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I totally just caught her checking out your ass,” Aubrey says smugly. Chloe turns around; Beca is still shelving records, not looking at either of them, although her ears are a bit red.

“Stop it,” Chloe whispers. “You’re going to scare her awa—”

“Hey,” a voice says behind her.

Chloe jumps and spins around. “Hi! Hey.”

“Hi,” Beca repeats, holding a couple of record to her chest.

After a moment, Aubrey nudges Chloe with her elbow. “Oh. Um. Beca, this is my roommate-slash-best-friend, Aubrey.”

“The one who won’t let you buy any more CDs.”

“Yes, that one,” Chloe agrees.

“You’re really hurting our business,” Beca deadpans, turning to Aubrey. “She’s our best customer.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet she is,” Aubrey says, smirking.

Beca’s eyes widen slightly, and she looks away, cheeks reddening. “I, um… I have to finish putting these away,” she mumbles, looking down at the records in her arms. “Ah, good to see you. And nice to meet you.” Then she scurries away.

Chloe waits a full three seconds until Beca is out of sight to turn and smack Aubrey on the arm. Hard. (Who, by the way, is still laughing.) “What the  _fuck_ , Bree?”

“I’m sorry,” Aubrey apologizes as she tries to stop giggling. “But I really couldn’t pass that up.”

“I really think you could have.”

“I mean, did you see her face?” Aubrey asks, her laughter finally dying down.

“Yes, I did,” Chloe huffs. “I think you traumatized her.”

“I’m sorry,” Aubrey asks. “But she’s definitely into you.”

“Really?” Chloe peers around the shelf. She spots Beca across the store looking at her, before she quickly looks away and busies herself with some CDs.

“Really,” Aubrey says, putting her hand on Chloe’s arm.

* * *

Aubrey joins Chloe on Friday to listen to Beca’s show (but only after she swore to be quiet through the whole thing).

She doesn’t say anything until the hour ends, breathing out a “Wow” with wide eyes.

“I know,” Chloe agrees. “I know.”

* * *

“So when are you going to ask her out?”

“If you ask me that one more time, Bree, I swear to God, I will go there and tell her  _you_ want to take her out.”

* * *

“You can do this,” Chloe whispers to herself, taking a deep breath before entering the store, greeted by the now-familiar tinkling of the bell. She scans the store for Beca, spotting her straining to reach a CD on a high shelf. Her t-shirt rides up, exposing a strip of pale skin, and Chloe can’t help but stare.

Triumphantly snagging the CD, Beca lowers her heels back to the floor and turns around. She sees Chloe by the door, staring at her, and jumps a little before hesitantly waving. Chloe picks her way though the shelves and stacks, coming to a stop before the other girl.

“Hey,” Chloe says, watching as Beca adjusts her shirt and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Hi,” Beca returns. “No Aubrey today?”

“No, you don’t have to worry about that.” Beca looks a little bit relieved and Chloe laughs.

“So what can I do for you today?” Beca asks with an easy smile, and a wave of nervousness hits Chloe.

“Dinner,” she blurts, then reddens.  _Get your shit together_. “I mean—would you like to get dinner? With me? Sometime?”

“Okay.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to that’s totally fine—” Chloe abruptly stops her rambling. “Wait, what?”

“I said 'okay,’” Beca repeats, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Really?” Chloe confirms, a bit disbelievingly.

“Really.”

“Awesome,” Chloe says breathlessly, laughing a little. (She had spent the entire afternoon preparing herself for rejection.)

Beca shifts on her feet. “I get off at seven. Want to swing by then?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.” Chloe knows she’s grinning idiotically, but she doesn’t care. “I’ll see you then.” She turns to leave before she can do something stupid, like suddenly kissing Beca in the middle of the store.

“Wait!” Beca calls, and Chloe stops, looking at her questioningly. “I, um… I never caught your name.”

“Oh,” Chloe says. (How could she have missed that?) “I’m Chloe.”

“Chloe,” Beca repeats, smiling. “I’ll see you at seven, Chloe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a few requests over on ff.net for a second part to this, so—ask and you shall receive. 
> 
> You’ll probably notice that the mash-up mentioned here was used on Glee. That is due to the fact that my musical abilities consist of that one time I knew how to play “Jingle Bells” on the cello in third grade.

“Hey!”

A pair of fingers snaps in from of her face.

“Earth to Becky!”

Beca jumps, snapping back to reality, realizing she had been staring at a shelf for probably a rather lengthy period of time. In front of her stands Luke, his arms crossed.

She definitely wasn’t fantasizing about taking Chloe home after their dinner date and—

 _Get a grip_ , she scolds herself.  _You just learned her name two hours ago._

“Yes. Um. I’m here,” Beca stammers, certain her thoughts are written all over her heated face. “What’s up?”

“Once you’re through examining the shelves,” her manager says sarcastically, “there’s a new shipment in the back that needs to be sorted and shelved.”

“I’m all over it,” Beca promises, heading for the back room.

“Oh, and Becky?” Luke calls after her.

Beca spins around on her heel. “Yes?”

“Remember: No sex on the desk. That applies to customers as well.”

 _Shit_.

* * *

Beca busies herself stacking the CDs by genre and then alphabetizing each stack, humming to herself. Her fingers itch for her laptop; instead, they tap out a rhythm against the table. Feeling inspired by Chloe and her effervescence (case in point: Beca doesn’t  _use_ words like “effervescence”), she wants to mix “Halo” with “Walking on Sunshine.” It could work, but she’d have to speed up the former to match with… dammit, she  _really_  wishes she had a notepad right now.

“Hey, Bec,” a voice says. Beca looks up to see her coworker Jesse leaning against the doorframe. “You want me to shelve any of those?”

“Yeah, sure,” Beca says, nudging a couple piles of hip-hop albums towards him. But Jesse doesn’t move to take them; he just stands there, staring at her with a goofy smile on his face. “What, dude?”

“She finally asked you out?”

Beca nearly knocks over the careful stack she’s been making. “Why does everyone in this store have their noses in my business?”

“She’s been here at least three times in the last week and hasn’t bought anything,” Jesse points out. “And she only talks to you. It was pretty hard to miss. Also,” he says with a shrug, “I was standing on the other side of the shelf.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I’m the main attraction in this store?” Beca asks sarcastically, crossing her arms. She really hates discussing her personal life.

“I’m sure your friend would agree with you,” Jesse says, scooping up the stacks and turning to leave. “And remember, no sex on the desk.”

“I am not having sex with anyone in this store!” Beca yells after him—evidently a little bit too loudly, because at least three people turn and look at her strangely. She feels her cheeks redden.

“Glad to hear it, Becky,” Luke says as he walks by, dropping another box onto the table. “But please try and refrain from screaming it at the customers.”

 _God_ , she is never going to make it to the end of this shift.

* * *

By the time seven o'clock rolls around, Beca feels like soda in a bottle that’s been shaken. (Or, how she imagines it might feel.)

She makes a beeline for the back room to clock out, dumping the records she’s holding into Jesse’s arms with a quick, “Can you take these? Great, thanks.” before unpinning her nametag and haphazardly running her fingers through her hair in front of the tiny bathroom mirror. She blows out a breath, gripping the sides of the sink.

“Don’t say anything stupid,” Beca tells her reflection.

(She’s pretty sure she heads Jesse whisper “No sex on the desk” as she exits the store, but she ignores it.)

Chloe is standing by the door, looking down at her phone, not seeing Beca at first. Her red hair is loose and wavy around her shoulders, and she wears a patterned blue sundress and sandals. She looks like she’s just stepped out of a classy-but-still-affordable clothing catalog—like, maybe Zulily’s or something and why is she even thinking about this?

“Hey,” Beca says, waving with one hand. She’s not quite sure what do to—hug? Shake hands? High five? She settles on tucking her hands in her pockets.

Chloe looks up, flashing a bright smile. “Hi!”

And oh, okay, she’s hugging Beca. That’s fine. Beca flounders for a moment before awkwardly patting Chloe’s back until she pulls away.

“You look nice,” Beca says, blinking in surprise as Chloe grabs her hand nonchalantly, leading her down the street like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Chloe smiles at her again. “Thanks. So do you.”

Beca can’t help but scoff and roll her eyes because she’s wearing the same thing she was this morning and she probably smells like sweat and dust from moving crap around all day. “Yeah,” she says drily. “Do you like my new perfume? It’s eau de used records.”

Chloe tips her head back and laughs as they cross the street, and Beca can’t help but note how unfairly pretty she is in the simple motion.

She doesn’t realize she’s staring until she notices Chloe looking at her expectantly with a hint of a smile on her lips. “Um. Sorry. What?”

“Does this look okay to you?” Chloe asks (Beca suspects for the second or third time).

Blinking, Beca sees that they are standing in front of a little diner, tucked inconspicuously between a couple of stores. It’s casual and quaint, and, for some reason, it makes Beca feel a little less nervous. “Looks great.”

They enter and are seated at a little booth in the corner. They’re greeted by a very peppy young waitress who enthusiastically takes their drink orders (root beer for Beca and water with lemon for Chloe).

When she leaves, Chloe levels Beca with a probably-not-intended-to-be-seductive-but-totally-is gaze. “So, Beca. Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m, um, I’m Beca,” Beca says, fidgeting with her paper napkin. “But you already know that. I work at a record store. Uh. You know that, too.”  _Get your shit together_ , she scolds herself.

“Are you nervous, Beca?” Chloe asks. Jesus Christ—Beca didn’t think she was this easy to read, but apparently she is.

“Yes,” she says honestly. Chloe reaches across the table and lays her hand over Beca’s and, yeah, that’s not really helping her nerves.

“Don’t be,” Chloe says. “I’ll tell you about myself first, okay?”

Beca nods, grateful to be let off the hook.

“I’m Chloe, but you already know that,” she teases. “I go to Barden University and I’m studying music therapy. I’m in a cappella group—we’re the tits.”

Beca looks somewhat confused and Chloe rushes to clarify. “That’s not the name of the group, though. We’re the Barden Bellas. I love everything about music. I’m from Miami, so as cliché as it sounds, I really do enjoy long walks on the beach.”

“My dad teaches at Barden,” Beca tells her.

“Really?” Chloe squeals, as if Beca had just told her that they had a cousin in common.

Wait. No. That’s an incredibly inappropriate analogy for this situation.

Anyway.

“Yes,” Beca says. “He’s trying to convince me to go next year.” She makes a face.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Chloe asks as the waitress sets their drinks on the table. They pause for a moment to order.

“College isn’t really my thing. I want to move to Los Angeles but I don’t have the money right now and my dad won’t help me financially unless I go to college,” Beca says. “So I stack CDs for minimum wage.”

Surprisingly, Chloe doesn’t tell her she should just go to college, like everyone else in her life does. Instead she asks, “What do you want to do in LA?”

“I want to be a music producer. So I need to start doing my time making coffee and getting burritos at a record label so I can get there someday.”

“That’s very cool,” Chloe tells her. “But  _if_  you ever decide to go to Barden, you should totes join the Bellas.”

“Sounds tempting,” Beca deadpans.

“Hey!” Chloe protests. “You’d get to be with me all the time.”

“Oh, well now I’m sold. College, here I come.”

“Shut up,” Chloe says, but she’s laughing as she says it, her fingers still tracing patterns on the back of Beca’s hand.

“You’re pretty bossy,” Bca teases back as the waitress places her grilled cheese in front of her and a salad in front of Chloe.

Chloe waits a moment for the waitress to be out of earshot. “You don’t know the half of it,” she says with a wicked smirk, her voice low.

 _Fuck_. A rush of heat floods Beca and she knows that her face is flushing. For a moment she can’t form words; all she manages to respond with is, “Oh.”

And just like that, Chloe’s face morphs back into her angelic smile, and she begins eating like nothing happened.

Beca is pretty sure this girl is going to kill her.

* * *

“So that was fun,” Beca says awkwardly. They’re been sitting in her car outside of Chloe’s apartment building for a good thirty seconds.

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees.

She has that look on her face again—like a python about to swallow its prey. If pythons made facial expressions. Or something.

Beca spends way too much time thinking up stupid analogies.

“Do you want to come up?” Chloe asks.

“Sure.”

* * *

Beca’s not sure who kissed whom first—although it probably was Chloe, because Beca very quickly finds herself pinned against her apartment door with Chloe sucking her way down her neck, yanking at the collar of her shirt for more access.

“Aubrey?” Beca has the good sense to gasp out.

“Out,” is all Chloe says in reply before yanking her shirt over her head, grinding her thigh in between Beca’s.

She can’t breathe in anything more than shallow gasps—can’t even _think_ , really. She imagines this is how it must feel to—

You know what?

Never mind.

* * *

“Good night?”

Beca looks up to see Jesse looking at her—well, more specifically, at her neck.

“I’m not answering that,” Beca grits out. She never thought she’d be this person—rolling into work with eyes red from lack of sleep and a line of hickeys from her ear to her collarbone, wearing the same jeans she wore yesterday.

“You don’t have to,” Jesse says, smirking.

She’s about to snap a comeback—or, really, just tell him to fuck off because she’s too tired for this shit—when Luke strolls past with an armful of records. He looks at her for a long moment.

“I’m going to sanitize the desk,” he says before walking away.

Jesus Christ. She is  _never_  meeting Chloe for a date here again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to continue this. At some point.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. Several people over on ff.net have asked for a continuation of this fic. This wasn't intended to be anything more than a two-shot (at most), so I really have no idea where this story could possibly go. So I'm gonna open it up to you guys—if you have ideas, suggestions, requests, etc., you can leave a comment or send me a message on here or on my Tumblr (amanaryouserious). Someone did suggest Beca decide to go to Barden; I could roll with that. I'm totally open to ideas!
> 
> This is kinda short and it's grossly fluffy, but I wanted to take a break from my other WIP and what happened was this.

Chloe is catching up on _Grey’s Anatomy_ on her laptop when Aubrey knocks on her door the next morning.

“Chloe?”

“Hmm?” Chloe looks up from the screen to see Aubrey leaning against the doorframe. She holds a pair of cooking tongs gingerly away from her body, from the end of which a pair of Chloe’s lacy red panties dangle.  
“I’m not asking why, and I’m not asking how,” Aubrey says, holding up her other hand when Chloe rushes to explain. “I am just asking that you don’t leave them in the hallway.”

“Sorry,” Chloe says sheepishly as Aubrey drops the underwear on her bed.

“I’m gonna go boil these,” she hears Aubrey mutter as she leaves the room.

* * *

**Beca Mitchell:** I’m getting so much shit at work for those hickeys you gave me. Could you be a little more discreet next time?

 **Chloe Beale:** Haha whoops.

 **Chloe Beale:** Aubrey found my underwear in the hallway.

 **Beca Mitchell:** That’s not my fault.

 **Chloe Beale:** You threw them there!

 **Beca Mitchell:** Yeah, but it’s not my responsibility to pick them back up!

 **Chloe Beale:** So you’re saying that if we had wild sex at your house you would stop to clean up?

 **Beca Mitchell:** Yes.

 **Beca Mitchell:** I live with my dad, Chloe.

 **Chloe Beale:** Fair point.

* * *

They decide to go out again the next week.

Beca calls and asks Chloe to meet her on the corner as opposed to in front of the store. And also to bring a pair of socks—for which she offers no explanation.

After a few minutes of waiting (and getting pushed past by annoyed pedestrians), Chloe spots Beca heading towards her, giving her a half-smile and a little wave.

“Hey!” Chloe says, reaching out to hug her and planting a quick, chaste kiss on her lips. Beca tenses a bit but returns the sentiment.

“Where are we going?” Chloe asks as they cross the street. She reaches out and entwines their fingers, finding it cute the way Beca’s cheeks still turn a bit red.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

Before long, Beca stops them in front of a tiny, hole-in-the-wall bowling alley. (The socks totally make sense now.)

“You’re taking me bowling?” Chloe asks, a grin spreading across her face.

“I know it’s really middle school,” Beca says nervously, shifting on her feet. “But I figured—”

Chloe cuts her off by grabbing her cheeks and kissing her smack on the mouth. Beca looks a bit uncomfortable but also kind of proud of herself.

“It’s perfect,” Chloe assures her. “You’re adorable.”

The pleased smile she receives from Beca makes Chloe’s chest feel a little constricted.

Fuck. She thinks she’s falling for this girl.

(The cute, surprised squeal she gets from Beca when Chloe smacks her lightly on the ass as they enter the bowling alley doesn’t help.)

* * *

“Ohhhh!” Beca yells, throwing her arms in the air as her ball knocks down all ten pins—again. “Strike six, bitch!”

“Beca,” Chloe hisses. While she does find this sudden display of cockiness—for lack of a better adjective—hot, “There are children here.”

“You’re just jealous,” Beca says, gesturing at the screen where their scores are displayed. Chloe’s is, admittedly, far lower than Beca’s.  
“Is this why you brought me here? So I can marvel at your bowling prowess?” Chloe asks.

“Perhaps.”

“Evolutionarily, it makes no sense for this to be such a turn-on,” Chloe whispers in Beca’s ear—partially because it’s true but also partially to see her squirm.

Beca inhales sharply, blinking rather rapidly. She covers it quickly with a cough. “I love it when you talk science to me,” she jokes, but her sarcasm loses its edge when her voice is shaking.

Chloe forces herself to step away before she impulsively engages in some inappropriate display of affection ( _Think of the children_ , she reminds herself), taking more time than is probably necessary selecting a ball from the rack.

She hasn’t been bowling since, like, ninth grade, and she’s never been particularly good at it. She’s not even sure _how_ one becomes good at bowling—you just hurl the ball and hope for the best, right?

Chloe manages to knock over four of the pins, which is a huge improvement over the gutter balls she’s been throwing all night.  
“I got some of them!” she calls to Beca excitedly, who responds with a thumbs-up and lazy smile. She looks relaxed and happy, one arm draped over the back of the bench designated for their lane. It’s a far cry from the anxious, hesitant Beca she first met a few weeks ago.

“What?”

It takes Chloe a second to realize she’s been staring.

“Nothing,” she says, brushing a lock of hair out of Beca’s face. Beca scrunches up her nose and shakes the hair back into place, like Chloe’s childhood cat did whenever someone touched its whiskers. “It’s your turn.”

“Watch and learn, Beale,” Beca says, standing. She selects a ball and uses it to knock down six of the pins. Grabbing another ball for her second turn, Beca turns and stands still for a moment, tongue poking out in concentration, before rolling again and getting a spare. The entire display Chloe finds too cute for words.

“That’s how it’s done,” Beca says, waving her arm in what comes across as something between a gang sign and a muscle spasm.

“Shut up,” Chloe says, pushing at Beca’s shoulder as she passed her to select a ball for herself. She tries to concentrate on the pins in front of her the same way Beca did, but she ends up throwing the ball right into the gutter. Again.

“Why do I suck?” she groans.

“Do you want some pointers?” Beca offers, coming up behind Chloe.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, well, first of all,” Beca says, taking the ball from her and turning it over, “you have to stick your fingers in the holes.

Chloe opens her mouth and Beca cuts her off with a sharp “Don’t” before she can make an inappropriate comment.

“You have to throw the ball with one hand,” Beca tells her, adjusting Chloe’s stance so that her body is angled slightly away from the lane, knees slightly bent. Her body melds into Chloe’s back, and Chloe unconsciously leans back a bit into her, feeling her every curve against her skin.

It’s not really helping.

“Roll it underhanded—like you’re going to toss a ball to a small child. But harder.” Beca moves Chloe’s arm so it’s poised to swing the ball forward. “Now take a couple steps and throw it.” Beca pulls away and the cool air hits Chloe’s back, but she ignores it and rolls the ball. It collides with the pins, and eight fall to the ground.

“Hey!” Chloe squeals. “I got most of them!”

Beca gives her a high five and an enthusiastic grin, and it doesn’t really bother Chloe when she completely misses the other two pins on her next turn.

She jumps about a foot in the air when Beca smacks her on the ass (taking a page out of Chloe’s book, she assumes) when she goes up to take her turn.

Beca smirks at her before rolling the ball.

* * *

Of course she rolls another strike.

Bitch. 

* * *

“So, do you bowl a lot?” Chloe asks over the plate of nachos they ordered once their game time ran out.

“I used to come here all the time,” Beca says, poking at the melted cheese with a corn chip. “Single dads have to take their kids bowling once a month. It’s, like, the law.”

“Do you guys not come here anymore?” Chloe asks, curious but trying not to push.

“Not really,” Beca answers. “Not so much after he married my stepmom. Plus, I’m busy and he’s busy. I’m an adult. I don’t need to hang out with my dad all the time anymore.”

“I’ll come here with you any time you want,” Chloe offers.

Beca smiles, eyebrows raised a bit in surprise. “I mean—if you want to. Okay.” She pops another chip into her mouth. “But know that you essentially just agreed to a regular ass-kicking.”

“As long as you let me kick _your_ ass afterwards,” Chloe says with a wink and a sly grin, which only widens when Beca drops the chip she’s holding.

“I kind of hate you,” Beca grumbles, cheeks tinted red.

“I’ll let you punish me for it later.” Another wink. Chloe drags her foot teasingly up Beca’s calf for good measure, loving the way Beca jumps in response.

“ _Chloe._ ”

* * *

“Did you remember to get your clothes out of the hallway?” Beca asks later that night as they lie lazily cuddling in Chloe’s bed. (Chloe thanks God for Aubrey’s pre-law classes that keep her in the library until late at night.)

“Oh, shit. Right. On it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about bowling so if any of you are hardcore bowlers and Beca's advice here was incorrect, please don't yell at me.


End file.
